Turn Up the Heat by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant

found the body.
    “Ma’am, do you know who owns the truck?”
    I glanced at the policeman’s ID tag. Officer Trent looked about twelve years old. His teenage appearance made me resent being called ma’am .
    “Um, the truck actually belongs to my friend Owen. He’s right over there.” I pointed to the distraught Owen. “Well, it really belongs to the Daily Catch. That’s the seafood company Owen works for. But I can assure you he had nothing to do with this.”
    “Sir? Could you come over here, please?” Officer Trent called over to Owen.
    Owen and I briefly described what had happened, and Owen confirmed what I’d said about the truck. “Look,” he added, “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I really have to get to work. I haven’t been at this job very long, and my boss is going to kill me if I’m much later. Sorry,” he hung his head. “That was obviously a bad choice of words.”
    “You won’t be getting to work anytime soon. We’ll need to have everyone inside so we can get statements from each of you. Call your boss.”
    “Wait!” Owen looked up quickly. “I’m not in any trouble, am I? This is my truck, but—”
    “We’ll sort everything out inside,” the officer said brusquely.
    I waited in the hope that he’d somehow go on to say that Owen was off the hook. I waited in vain.

FIVE
    I don’t understand why they’re even in the restaurant,” Snacker said with exasperation, “or why they’re keeping us here. Leandra was found outside the building. In Owen’s truck.”
    Owen glared at him. “Thank you for pointing that out. Anything else helpful you’d like to add?”
    Owen, Snacker, and I, together with the other employees, were all in Simmer’s main dining room, where Officer Trent and his colleagues were keeping what felt like a close eye on us, as if they expected one of us to make a run for it at any minute. Santos and Javier hadn’t bolted after all, but they looked uncomfortable and stayed close to Snacker. The police had sealed off the alley and all of the restaurant except the area at the front of the dining room where all of us waited. Snacker had unlocked the front door so that other employees arriving for work could be quickly ushered into what had become a holding area.
    “I don’t know, Snack,” I said. “And Owen, nobody thinks this is your fault. I wish Josh would get here, though.”
    Snacker looked irritated. “Did you hear that cop tell me that we can’t even open today? Gavin and Josh are going to flip out. We had a party today for one of our best customers.”
    Snacker was extremely loyal to Josh and had been working just as hard as my boyfriend at making Simmer succeed against all restaurant odds. Snacker was an old friend of Josh’s who had moved back to Boston for the opportunity to work with Josh at Simmer. The two of them and their friend Stein had an apartment in Jamaica Plain. I avoided the place, which was messy and smelled like boys because no one was ever home long enough to clean it. Periodically, Snacker would put in the effort to tidy the place up and make it presentable enough to bring women there. He was cute, there was no denying that, and since he’d been in Boston, he’d maintained a steady stream of smitten young ladies. Many a customer and waitress had been taken in by Snacker’s dark hair, olive skin, and lean build, and he’d quickly become Simmer’s resident heartbreaker. He had no interest in a long-term relationship unless it was between him and a restaurant, which was at least working out for Josh if not for the heartbroken stream of Boston women.
    Josh entered through the front door, nodded to us, and was greeted by one of the many uniformed people who had taken over the restaurant. After speaking for a few minutes with a severe-looking woman whose brown hair was knotted in a tight bun, he came over to us, wrapped his arms around me in a big bear hug, and said, “Jesus, Chloe. Are you okay? Tell me again what